Gabrielle's Journal
by Credos De Muse
Summary: Here, we look at some excerpts from Gabrielle's private journal and explore how the relationship between the two friends evolved over time.
1. Excerpt 1

General Disclaimer: This is a fan fiction based on the television series Xena: Warrior Princess. All characters, locations, quotes, etc borrowed from the show belong strictly to the original creators and whomsoever holds the ultimate copyrights. There is no intention of copyright infringement or profit wherein this fan fiction is concerned. The remaining ideas, storyline, characters, etc are but a figment of my fevered mind and I will bear full responsibility for them.

Other Disclaimers:

Violence is inevitable and may even be overly graphic since a certain Warrior Princess is involved hence anyone who may be uncomfortable with such depictions is advised to avoid reading the story herein.

The story also depicts a loving relationship between two consenting adult women and as such may contain descriptions of a sexual nature, graphic or otherwise. In the event you are under the legal age wherever you may reside to be exposed to such contents or it is illegal in your country, please do not read any further. If a loving sexual relationship between two adults of the same gender makes you uncomfortable in any way, you might want to give this story a miss.

Please note that I will not be responsible for any trauma resulting from a failure to heed any of my warnings above.

Author's note: This is my attempt to chart Gabrielle's evolving feelings for Xena, using excerpts from Gabrielle's hypothetical and obviously non-existent private journal to tell the story behind the story.

* * *

 **Gabrielle's Journal**

By Credos De Muse

I love Xena, she's my best friend. But recently, it almost seems as if she is becoming something more, much more.

It's nearly impossible to say when it started but I was at the Athens City Academy of the Performing Bards when I first realised something had changed between us. Xena was no longer just a friend to me. Perhaps I was the one who had changed or perhaps it was Xena's parting words that finally awakened something in me. I cannot be sure.

Before we parted ways, me to Athens and her to Keremus, Xena told me that we were family and that I was like a sister to her. Since she'd grown up with two brothers in her family, I was probably the sister she always wanted but never had. As for me, well, I had always looked up to Xena as a sort of mentor, what with her vast experience in life and her wealth of worldly wisdom and all. Xena was, contrary to popular belief, a veritable fount of knowledge and I have learned a lot from her in the half a year we'd been travelling together. In that sense, it might not be much of a stretch for me to view her as an older sister. But somehow, that particular characterisation of our relationship just seemed wrong to me. Don't get me wrong; Xena was right. She is my family; even more so than, the gods forbid, my parents and Lila. But I think, perhaps, that I love her and that she just might be what I have been searching for all my life. You know the story I told Iolaus about everyone having four legs and two heads and being split into two by Zeus? Well, I believe that—that everyone has someone out there waiting for them; someone who shares the same soul and that everything we do in life is just so we can be reunited with the other half of our soul. I would like to believe that was what Xena was trying to tell me back then, when she tried to tell me the story of the two orphans and how sometimes the person we spend our whole life searching for could be right beside us the whole time without us even realising it.

Attending the Athens City Academy of the Performing Bards was a lifelong dream of mine. I love stories. Who doesn't? Except perhaps a certain warrior princess I know. Come to think of it, Hercules doesn't seem to care too much for story telling either. I guess listening to stories just can't compare to real life experience and when you have lived the kind of lives Xena and Hercules have, stories just sort of lose their appeal. But I digress. My love for stories, any kind at all, started one winter when I was seven years old.

It was a particularly harsh winter, fraught with howling blizzards and sudden snowstorms that shook our house like a ragdoll and made the shutters rattle in their frames. It was a wonder our old farmhouse make it through that winter unscathed other than the odd busted window or two. But what made that winter memorable was the old man the snow storms brought to Potidaea one cold wintry night. He was a travelling bard, a kindly old man with peppery white hair sticking out every which way from under his simple woollen cap and an equally unruly beard that hung down to his belt buckle. He was a masterful storyteller and though a little hard of hearing and short of sight, neither detracted from the power of his stories and the magic he weaved in the hearts and minds of young and old alike. His name was Eramos and he had been travelling all over Greece for nearly thirty years and a bard for even longer than that. He knew all the classics by heart but it was the little known tales he picked up from the people he had come across in the course of his long life and the stories he told about his own experiences that captured my attention the most.

Every opportunity I had, I would sneak out of my house to listen to Eramos perform in the taverns, mouthing the words to the stories when I knew them and memorising them when I didn't. At the taverns, I would always squeeze my way through the crowds until I found a space from which I could watch the old bard weave his particular brand of magic. But the taverns were no place for a young child like me and more often than not, my dad would storm in with a stony face and drag me unceremoniously back home where I would have to face the consequences of my disobedience. It never stopped me though; not until the day Eramos tracked me down and offered to take me under his wing if I promised to stay away from the taverns. It was an easy decision to make and at the tender age of seven, I became an apprentice bard. It wasn't official by any means since my dad was vehemently against the idea of me being anything other than a model farmer's wife but Eramos kept his part of the promise and so did I. He taught me all the classics and showed me how a lesson could be derived from every story and that the best stories are the ones that spoke to people's hearts, not just their minds.

Under his patient tutelage, I quickly discovered my passion for storytelling and that I was actually really good at it. As Eramos used to say, I was a natural. My parents weren't as approving of my storytelling ways however. Mom wasn't that bad but she had always taken her cues from dad and my dad was, well, dead set in his ways. Despite that, or perhaps because of that, I was determined to become a bard someday, just like Eramos. The Academy was supposed to help me achieve that. But as I stood up there on the stage, retelling our many adventures for the sake of the judges and the audience, I realised that I no longer needed the Academy to achieve my dream. Travelling with Xena all these months, living and breathing the danger and adventure that never seemed to be far away, and recounting those stories in the villages and towns we inevitably ended up in; what more could I possibly want? I might not be classically trained but I am a bard all the same; a travelling bard, just like Eramos. And I like to think he would be proud of me if he could only see me now.

Moreover, I am not ready to leave Xena. I need to know if she's the one. But given my lack of experience in this area, I don't even know where to even start much less what I am supposed to feel towards her. How do you compare when there is nothing to compare to? I guess I'll just have to figure out somehow. For now, I'm content just to have my best friend here beside me once more.


	2. Excerpt 2

Just the other day, I went back home to Potidaea, the first time I'd been back since I ran away to follow Xena. It wasn't something I had planned; it just happened. One moment, I was fooling around with my brand new pan flute and feeling mighty pleased with myself; in the next, I was running home to mama like a scared little girl who'd just realised how dangerous the world really was. It wasn't pretty and I'm not proud of it; especially not the way I left Xena there all by herself without so much as a by-your-leave. Some best friend I turned out to be, huh?

Xena used to joke that I have a gift for getting myself in trouble and I am tempted to agree. I've actually lost count of the number of times she has had to bail me out of trouble. That day wasn't any different. So what had me so spooked about the entire incident? Sure, I froze and could have ended up as so much roadkill if it hadn't been for Xena's quick thinking. But I had made it through completely unscathed. There wasn't any reason for me to be running scared but I was and the only thing I could think to do was going home. Home was supposed to be safe. Home was family. And home was where I felt I needed to be.

I do not know what kind of reception I was expecting on my return to Potidaea. Did I really think I would be welcomed back with open arms and my life would pick up where it left off as if I had never left and the past year had been nothing more than a dream? That I hadn't walked out on them in the exact same way I had just done to Xena. Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on me. I wish I could say I wasn't that naïve but that was precisely what I was hoping for. In my defence, I was so shaken up that I wasn't thinking straight. If I had, I would have realised that going home right then and there was possibly the worst decision I could have made.

Luckily for me, everything turned out alright. Granted, Lila wasn't as pleased to see me as I hoped she would but she eventually warmed up and it was almost like the good old days when we would lie awake late into the night talking about everything and anything under the sun. I was also fortunate that my parents were away at a market fair the next town over. If they hadn't been, I'm not sure what I would have said to them. Was I sorry for running away and making them worry all this time? Yes. Would I do it all over again? You can bet your dinars I would! I don't regret leaving, I just regret that things had turned out the way they did. If I could have gone back in time, I might have approached things a little differently. But there really isn't any point in dwelling on what could have been, is there?

Returning home did not have the desired effect I was hoping for but it did the trick all the same. Sometimes, we just need to take a step back to better appreciate the situation we are in. Being away from Xena helped me do just that. Listening to Lila's one-too-many barbed comments about Xena also allowed me to put certain things into perspective. I idolise Xena. It's blatantly obvious from the way I talk about her. At least it was obvious enough for Lila to sit up and take notice. It's no surprise really. Having spent as much time as I have with Xena, it was impossible not to. Xena's just amazing; even though she's nowhere near perfect. In fact, it's precisely her flaws and inadequacies that make me respect and admire her so much more.

I have made no secret of my desire to be like Xena. Travelling with her all these months, learning everything she had been willing to teach me and witnessing my own transformation from a mere dead weight to someone who was increasingly able to hold my own; I lost sight of an important truth—I wasn't Xena, not by a long shot. Somehow, along the way, I had started comparing myself to her, trying to measure up to her exacting standards in nearly everything I did. I guess I wanted to prove myself, to make myself more useful to her, if not downright indispensable. Because deep down, I am afraid—afraid that she will realise one day that I am weighing her down and that it will be so much easier to just send me away. That would surely be a fate worse than death.

Meeting Meleager the Mighty, who singlehandedly slew 317 men at the battle of Liguria, and watching him spend nearly all of his waking hours seeking solace at the bottom of a wine barrel proved highly illuminating. The only reason he was almost perpetually drunk was because he had lost his nerve and was desperately trying to make up for it through imbibing a little, or perhaps a whole lot of, liquid courage. If it could happen to a seasoned warrior like Meleager, why couldn't it happen to me? I lost my nerve, Xena didn't. Big surprise there. Xena's been doing this for way longer than I have. She's seen it all, done it all and when push comes to shove, she always comes through. That's why she's the hero everybody tells stories about and I am the sidekick nobody remembers. You know what? I'm actually okay with that. Being a sidekick isn't all that bad. There's less pressure that way. And I'm still learning. I will get better. I cannot be sure that I will not lose my nerve again someday and put both myself and Xena at risk but, as long as I remember Xena's advice—act, don't react, I'll get through it just fine.

And last but not least, being back in Potidaea made me realise something else—Potidaea was not my home and hadn't been for a good while now. Like Lila said, my heart belongs elsewhere and I think it is safe to say that home is wherever the heart lies; and that, is right here, in this small little clearing, jotting down my thoughts for the day while I watch Xena out of the corner of my eye. Sitting across the campfire from this amazing woman who was once a stranger and now seems to have captured my heart for all eternity, I still can't believe she actually came looking for me. Maybe, just maybe, I am her home too.


	3. Excerpt 3

When I was five, I talked my parents into getting me my very own pony. His name was Tympani and he was just a foal when he first became mine. He was a sweet little thing who used to follow me everywhere I went, nibbling at my hair and nudging me with his head whenever he thought he deserved an apple. We even took naps together; drowsing in the sun after our explorations left us too tired to continue. He was my best friend and I loved him.

One morning, Tympani was not in his usual spot waiting for me. Thinking that he might have wandered off, I called his name but he didn't come running with that funky gait of his. Worried that something might be amiss, I went looking for him. I found him in a nearby field, stretched out on his side, his flanks heaving spasmodically. When he saw me approaching, he tried to lift his head in greeting but the effort was obviously too much for him and he could only blink at me soulfully as I gently stroked his face. Even though I was only seven at the time, it was obvious that Tympani was very sick.

Over the next few days, I spent every possible moment with Tympani. I nursed him the way my mom would nurse Lila and me whenever we were sick. I was determined to make him better. In the beginning, he refused to eat anything and I could hardly get him to drink but he gradually improved. By the end of the week, he was eating again and he could stand, albeit a little shakily. With a little tender loving care, I was sure Tympani would make a full recovery. Alas, it wasn't to be. That's just what happens with the things that you love. Sometimes, they just leave you.

It's a tough lesson to learn when you are little more than a child but that's the reality of life. Pets die, people die. It doesn't matter how much you love them. They will leave you one day. It is inevitable. What should we do then? Should we shun love altogether so as to be spared further heartache and pain? What kind of life would that be? Never loving anyone or being loved. Isn't that a fate worse than death itself? I think I would rather deal with the heartache when it comes than have to live my life without knowing love.

To me, the similarities between Tympani and Xena are self-evident. Like Tympani, Xena is my best friend. And right now, she is probably the only true friend I have. I love her. And like Tympani, she became very sick one day and she died. And just like it had with Tympani, her death caught me completely by surprise. I shouldn't have been. I knew Xena was dying. All the signs were there. It was after all the first time I had seen Xena so weak and so—dare I say it—mortal.

This might seem strange but I have never truly considered the possibility that Xena might actually die someday. I mean, we all die and given the life we lead, the dangers we face and the risks we take every day, it would be impossibly naïve to believe we would ever live to be a ripe old age. No, it is more likely that we would find death waiting for us at the end of a sword. But if you have ever met Xena, even in passing, you know there's just something about her, a kind of aura if you will, that sets her apart from the rest of us mere mortals. Hercules is the same. Then again, he is the son of Zeus. And Xena is, well, Xena.

I have seen her shrug off grievous injuries as if they were nothing more painful or debilitating than a needle prick. I have also watched her achieve the impossible, time and again, prevailing against seemingly insurmountable odds to triumph in her fight against evil. Xena doesn't lose. And she certainly doesn't die; unless, of course, it is all part of her plan.

But was it all part of the plan? I can't be sure. I know Xena likes to plan for all possible contingencies but I doubt she was expecting to be hit by a dart, much less one coated with Talmic poison. I'm still angry with her though, for not telling me about that. It could have gotten her killed. And it did, didn't it? I know she didn't want to worry me unnecessarily but I can't take care of her if she persists in keeping secrets from me. We are supposed to be a team and she is my responsibility as much as I am hers.

Sometimes, we take for granted the things and the people we love the most. I don't want to do that any longer. When I thought Xena was dead and never coming back, I had so many regrets. But more than my regrets, I realise that I am lost without her. Where do I go? What do I do? Once, I might have had an answer to those questions. Now, I don't. Xena has become so important in my life that I'm not sure I know how to go on without her. And that scares me, more than anything else. I hope I never have to find out. But for now, I'm going to keep a closer eye on her. Someone out there obviously wants her dead and I plan on doing everything I can to make sure they don't succeed.


	4. Excerpt 4

**Author's Note:** This concludes the journal entries for Season 1. I know it's been a while since I posted the last excerpt but I'm not one of those writers capable of finishing a story in 15 mins or half an hour. It usually takes me a few days just running through the various possibilities before I even start writing. And even then, I generally go through a few drafts, oftentimes starting again from scratch when it doesn't turn out the way I envision it to. Couple that with my work schedule, it might take a while before my next update so please do bear with me.

Also, do feel free to give feedback or even let me know if you want me to specifically cover certain episodes for Gabrielle's Journal. Thanks for reading and I hope you've enjoyed the series so far. - CM

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Xena's many detractors would have you believe that she is nothing more than a washed up ex-warlord; one who was ousted from her own army and forced to walk the gauntlet of death by her own men. As you can imagine, walking the gauntlet was akin to a death sentence. No one survived the gauntlet. But Xena did. And like any self-respecting warrior, she returned to exact revenge on the man responsible for turning her men against her; the man who used the mutiny to wrest control of the army she had painstakingly gathered through the years. With a little help from Hercules and despite Ares' meddling, Xena killed him; not once, but twice. And with the usurper dead, she could have easily reclaimed her army and continued her warlord ways. But she didn't. Instead, she chose to walk away.

To hear her naysayers tell it, Xena did not leave of her own accord but was forced to do so when her men refused to accept her as their leader. In the months that followed, she travelled all over Greece trying to raise a new army but the news of her ignominious rejection by her last army had spread far and wide by then and she was unable to convince anyone to follow her. Disgraced and seemingly left with no other recourse, Xena then took to the roads as a wandering warrior. As a last ditch attempt to salvage the tattered remains of her reputation, she took on the services of a travelling bard. And unlike her earlier failure to drum up support for a new army, her new plan worked to perfection and it wasn't long before Xena was being hailed as a hero.

But it was all just a scheme; a brilliant scheme to be sure but a scheme all the same. Xena was no hero. She was a butcher, one who took delight in sacking towns and taking lives indiscriminately. No one could deny Xena's prowess in combat but it took more than skill with a sword to be a hero. Heroes were supposed to strive for the greater good above and beyond their own personal gain. They helped the common man because they can, not because of any reward they may receive as a result. And Xena is the ultimate anti-hero. She never did anything that didn't benefit her in one way or another. And so, to even mention Xena's name in the same breath as any of the legitimate heroes, especially one as hallowed and selfless as Hercules, is a grave insult to heroes the world over.

I would be tempted to agree with them—if even half of what they say is true. But it isn't. I should know. After all, I am the bard Xena supposedly employed to reform her image as a failed warlord.

I understand why people tend to think the worst of Xena. She has a reputation for being a merciless and bloodthirsty warlord, and the mere mention of her name is enough to strike fear in the hearts of battle-hardened warriors, much less defenceless peasants. Given Xena's less than sterling past, it is easier to blame the tales of her heroic deeds on a bard's overenthusiastic embellishments than to believe that someone as incorrigible as her could ever turn her life around. But they can't hide from the truth forever. Xena is a true hero. She does what she does because she truly believes in the greater good, not because she cares for the accolades or the possible financial rewards. Granted, Xena is trying to make up for her past misdeeds. But there is nothing to stop her from basking in the glory or making a living off her fame as a hero. Most heroes do. Not Xena though. Praise makes her uncomfortable and she would rather live off the land utilising her skills of survival than accept even a single dinar for helping people in need.

Even as I write this, Xena is fast asleep beside me, her head pillowed upon on her arms. She will likely have a kink in her neck come morning but nothing I do or say has been able to convince her to leave my side. Not after nearly losing me. I don't blame her. How could I? I did exactly the same thing not a month past when I thought she was dead only to have her miraculously returned to life.

It has been a rough day for her and she's way past exhausted. I would like to touch her, to convince myself she is real, to somehow anchor myself in this reality. But I'm afraid to wake her and I know without a doubt she would cast aside her weariness in the space of a heartbeat if she thought I needed her. And I do. Because it still feels so surreal.

I was dead. I know I was. One moment I was lying here, feeling like death warmed over, in the next, I found myself in the most beautiful and peaceful place that ever existed—the Elysian Fields. It couldn't be anywhere else. Green pastures stretching as far as my eyes could see. And the fruit trees. Oh, the fruit trees; practically bursting with their load of the most mouth-watering selection of fruit possible, succulent and sweet and absolutely to die for. Then there was my grandmother whom I missed so much. And my Uncle Morose who never failed to make me laugh whenever he came to visit. And Talus. I'd barely even begun to talk to him before he cocked his head to one side as if listening to something only he could hear. Then he broke into a smile that surely surpassed Apollo's crowning glory and told me to send his regards to Xena.

Before I could even think to ask what he meant by that, I found myself back in the temple of Aesclepius, involuntarily drawing in a ragged breath that seared through my throat, down into my lungs and brought the flaring pain of my injuries into an all-too-sharp focus. I would have screamed if I could. But Xena had her arms wrapped around me so tight I could barely breathe. I will never forget the way she held me then, enfolding me in her arms as if she was afraid I would disappear back into the ether if she merely loosened her hold on me. I can still feel the wetness of her tears as they mingled with my perspiration and the desperateness of the kisses she rained down upon me. In that moment, I felt what it was like to be truly loved. In that moment, I finally understood the scorching fierceness of her love and the yawning depths of her need—for me.

Never before have I seen Xena lose it so completely; not even when she thought the villagers of Locia had killed her father. I wasn't around to witness the whole episode but I had a good idea from the looks everyone was giving Xena. And Ephiny made extra sure to tell me all about it when she got the chance. My sister Amazon is convinced that I hold a particularly special place in Xena's heart given how our usually stoic warrior friend reacted to my death. I am less certain. After all, Ephiny is still grieving over the loss of Phantes and she might very well be reading too much into Xena's reaction.

Xena is a master at keeping her emotions under wraps and while she has thawed somewhat in the year we have been travelling together, she has never once hinted that we were or could be anything more than best friends or sisters. Then again, Xena rarely calls anyone friend. Marcus was a friend. So was Hercules. And they both shared a bedroll with Xena at one time or another. I'm not saying Ephiny is right or that she's wrong but it brings to mind a conversation Xena and I had over a campfire not too long ago. We were hot on the tail of Callisto and Xena was explaining to me what had happened in Cirra and how she was responsible for creating the monster that was Callisto. And in a moment of candidness, Xena shared with me her greatest fear; that she would return to her old ways if anything should happen to Hercules, her mother, or me. I made her promise not to. Thinking back on it now, I finally realise what Xena wasn't saying.

Ephiny is probably right. But I'm not sure it even matters. Because when the sun rises tomorrow, Xena and I will most likely return to the way we have always been. Knowing Xena, we will never speak about Thessaly and her moment of weakness. And in time, it will almost be as if it never happened. But we both know it did and neither of us will ever forget. Where we go from here is a mystery. If I wanted to, I could rock the boat by pointedly asking her about it. But after experiencing the sheer intensity and magnitude of Xena's love, I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with what it means to be loved by the Warrior Princess. Xena never does anything in half measures. And, in this matter at least, neither do I.


End file.
